


a slow, dumb show

by wordstruck



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, University AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 08:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11459577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstruck/pseuds/wordstruck
Summary: To make a point, Oikawa spends the rest of the day wearing the shirt, ignoring the sporadic confused looks he gets (and the polite inquiry from Yakkun when he brings Kuroo his Japanese-English dictionary). He could simply explain that he’d accidentally grabbed Iwaizumi’s shirt instead while in a rush this morning, but at this point he’s riding sheer stubbornness and pride and he’s not going to let Kuroo win.(Not that he even knows what point he’s making, or what they’re playing at, but it’s theprincipleof it.)Or, five+one times Iwaizumi and Oikawa end up wearing each other's clothing.





	a slow, dumb show

**Author's Note:**

> This is about 40% for Anj's birthday and 60% an excuse to write fluffy, domestic IwaOi because I have many feelings. BUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANJ, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT.
> 
> Unbeta'd thus far so if you see any corrections, let me know!! // Come find me on Twitter as [@okw_tr](https://twitter.com/okw_tr) and on Tumblr as [yurochkas](https://yurochkas.tumblr.com) for more HQ/YOI content!

* * *

**1.**

Learning to live without their parents and learning to cohabitate are two different challenges, but Oikawa thinks they’re managing… all right. Sure, he’s now been banned from the kitchen (except to use the microwave and the coffee maker), and sure, there had been that one incident where Iwaizumi had almost flooded their tiny apartment after clogging the toilet, but the point is they’re _managing_ and that’s the most anyone can ask of two teenage boys who’ve just entered university.

(Or whatever Oikawa needs to tell himself to feel better, whenever he comes back from visiting Kuroo’s and Yakkun’s frighteningly neat 2DK and sees that Iwa-chan hasn’t taken his _subtle_ hint to do the dishes.) (Subtle, of course, meaning that it’s Oikawa’s turn to do the dishes but he’s pointedly left them in the sink to pressure Iwaizumi into surrendering and washing them himself.)

They’ve sorted out their food arrangements, and most other cleaning duties, but laundry is just a whole other beast. They technically have their own closets, but between research papers and exams, Oikawa’s volleyball training and Iwaizumi’s med readings, neither of them has the time to sort through the laundry load and fold their clothes into shelves and drawers. So now there’s simply an Iwaizumi pile and an Oikawa pile, and a lot of hoping for the best that things are divided properly.

Which is how Oikawa shows up to his PolSci 11 class wearing a shirt that’s just a little bit too small and absolutely not preppy.

In his defense, he’d overslept by three alarms and was in danger of being late to morning training, so he’d simply stuffed extra clothes into his duffel while grabbing some milk bread from the counter. Then training had run late because _Shittyjima Bakatoshi_ had insisted on practicing their new broad attack and coach had cheerfully agreed, so Oikawa hadn’t had the chance to look over what he was wearing before he’d sprinted three buildings over. So it’s not until Kuroo slides into the seat beside him, looking perfectly mussed-up as always, that Oikawa realizes anything.

“I know we’re training extra because of the upcoming tournament,” Kuroo drawls, leaning back in his seat, “but I’m pretty sure you don’t get bigger _that_ quickly.”

Oikawa scowls at him around a mouthful of milk bread, because he’s had a cranky morning and he’s really not in the mood for Kuroo’s vague-ass insinuations. But Kuroo just grins and waggles his eyebrows pointedly at Oikawa’s chest, making the setter look down.

The blue Ball Is Life shirt he’s wearing is indeed too small, and also decidedly _not_ his.

With a tiny, scathing sigh, Oikawa collects his dignity and opens his notebook, adamantly _not_ looking Kuroo’s way. Not even when Kuroo snickers under his breath, or asks how living with Iwaizumi is going.

“Fine,” Oikawa answers in clipped, lofty tones, staring hard at the blackboard.

“I can see that,” Kuroo quips, and gets a notepad smacked into his face.

 

To make a point, Oikawa spends the rest of the day wearing the shirt, ignoring the sporadic confused looks he gets (and the polite inquiry from Yakkun when he brings Kuroo his Japanese-English dictionary). He could simply explain that he’d accidentally grabbed Iwaizumi’s shirt instead while in a rush this morning, but at this point he’s riding sheer stubbornness and pride and he’s not going to let Kuroo win.

(Not that he even knows what point he’s making, or what they’re playing at, but it’s the _principle_ of it.)

When he gets home, crankier than this morning, Iwaizumi looks up from where he’s making dinner and pauses mid-greeting. But to his credit (or perhaps because the look on Oikawa’s face deters him), he makes no comment, and simply what Oikawa wants to drink.

The next morning, the divide between Iwaizumi Pile and Oikawa Pile is a little more obvious, and that’s the end of that.

 

**2.**

Except, of course, it’s not.

Iwaizumi is running on about one and a half hours of sleep and three cups of coffee. He has a three hour anatomy lecture in about thirty minutes and their place is roughly twenty-seven minutes away from the lecture hall. His benevolent flatmate has left a sports drink on the counter with a note that says _wanted to wake you up but you were snoring so piggily!_ with the most obnoxious winky face, and at this point Iwaizumi’s seriously considering homicide (or at least physical injury).

He grabs the first pair of jeans and the first shirt he can get his hands on, grabs the sports drink, and runs for the station. Mercifully, he makes it to the lecture hall in twenty-five minutes flat.

He collapses into the seat beside Sarukui Yamato, who’s blinking at him with a perplexed expression. At first Iwaizumi ignores it, preferring to dig through his file case for the day’s references and chug the sports drink, but after Sarukui shoots him the fifth frown in a row, Iwaizumi’s had it.

“Is there something on my face?” he hisses under his breath, attention torn between Sarukui’s confusion and their professor’s lecturing.

“No,” Sarukui says, and pauses. He looks like he’s trying to pick his next words carefully.

“Then what?”

“It’s.” Sarukui scrunches his face. “Your shirt.”

“My shirt?” And Iwaizumi finally looks down at himself to see that he’s wearing an obnoxiously pastel shirt with mochi characters printed on it. Which is definitely not his.

“If it helps, I don’t think anyone else has noticed yet,” Sarukui offers. Iwaizumi just slumps over his table and wonders if he has enough time to commute back to their apartment to change before his next lecture.

(He doesn’t.)

 

At his third lecture of the day, Iwaizumi gets the text he’s been dreading.

> _iwa-chan, you’d better wash that shirt!! i don’t want to stink of your gorilla sweat_ (￣ヘ￣)

Sarukui just pats him on the back with something resembling sympathy and goes back to taking notes.

 

(Spitefully, and because he can, Iwaizumi _doesn’t_ wash the shirt. He dumps it into Oikawa’s dirty laundry pile and considers it payback.)

 

**3.**

Iwaizumi _really_ doesn’t have time for this.

The chemistry lecture hall is freezing cold, and he has labs after with the professor who likes his rooms to be Arctic in temperature, so he really needs his sweater. Or well, either of his sweaters, but one is in the wash after he and Oikawa had joined Kuroo for drinks on Tuesday, which they will absolutely never do again. Besides, this sweater is warmer and more comfortable, and has the tattoo of Ouroboros on its front.

Except he _can’t find his damn sweater._

After digging through the clean laundry, the dirty laundry, and Oikawa’s laundry (and even checking under the beds in desperation), Iwaizumi’s got just thirty-three minutes to make it to class and no sweater. Huffing in frustration, he settles for his rain jacket and hoping he won’t freeze to death.

Sarukui takes one look at Iwaizumi hunched up in his jacket, and slides over his scarf.

Iwaizumi winds it around his neck gratefully and makes a mental note to buy Sarukui coffee every day next week.

His last class of the day doesn’t meet, so Iwaizumi buys some piping hot chocolate on the way back to the apartment to put the feeling back in his fingers and to feel better after labs. He arrives at the apartment to the sound of Oikawa clattering around, probably getting ready for afternoon training.

He opens the door to find Oikawa in the exact sweater he’d been looking for this morning, humming as he fills up his water bottle. He at least has the compunction to look guilty when he hears Iwaizumi close the door.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa says brightly, turning around abruptly so he’s facing away from their front door. “You’re back very early, I wasn’t expecting to see you before I left for training.”

“I wonder why,” Iwaizumi replies shortly, and stalks into the kitchen, where he absolutely steps all over Oikawa’s feet while putting his hot chocolate down on the counter and reaching for the cooking pot. Oikawa’s smile tightens as he flinches, but he doesn’t say a word of complaint.

“You see, Iwa-cha--” Iwaizumi digs his heel pointedly on Oikawa’s toes, shutting his friend up.

“I shivered my way through one lecture and a three hours lab session, Shittykawa, the next words out of your mouth better be an apology.” The glare Iwaizumi levels at Oikawa would shake the hearts of better men.

Oikawa looks down sheepishly at his feet, tugging the sleeves down over his arms and hunching up. If Iwaizumi didn’t know him better, he’d actually say Oikawa’s _embarrassed_ \-- and that can’t be a faint blush on his cheeks, can it?

(Ah, shit.)

“It’s just, I wasn’t feeling well this morning and -- and this is warmer than my training jacket.” And Iwaizumi misses the muttered _and it’s comfier_ under Oikawa’s breath because he’s too busy trying not to find Oikawa’s pout _cute._ Instead he just sighs, picks up his hot chocolate, and shoves it into his friend’s hands.

“I keep telling you not to overwork yourself,” he snaps, though there’s no real heat. And he doesn’t step on Oikawa’s feet anymore as he brings the pot over to the stove.

“It’s probably just the weather,” Oikawa replies lightly. It’s a lie, of course, but that’s a conversation for another day. For now, Iwaizumi just sighs and shoos Oikawa off to training.

 

When Oikawa gets back home later that evening, Iwaizumi’s in his room, but there’s curry and soup waiting for him by the microwave. And there’s a small smile on Oikawa’s face as he heats them up.

 

**4.**

Oikawa does get sick, and when he’s sick, he’s _insufferable._ He sneezes every ten seconds, he whines, he makes pathetic little noises while curled up under a mountain of blankets in bed.

He’s _still_ wearing Iwaizumi’s sweater.

“You _did_ overwork yourself,” Iwaizumi chides, frowning as he brings in the spicy cup noodles that Oikawa had requested and sets them on his friend’s bedside table.

“I was just doing some extra practice!” Oikawa protests, although it’s not particularly coherent when muffled by two blankets and said through a nose full of snot. He sniffles sulkily at Iwaizumi as he takes the noodles and starts to eat.

“One of these days, Shittykawa, you’re going to catch something worse than a cold.” Iwaizumi crosses his arms and glares, although he really is concerned. Oikawa is notorious for forgetting his health in his single-minded determination to be good at volleyball; he’s witnessed it firsthand more than once. And even if his friend _has_ gotten better and more reasonable since that time he’d gotten injured, Oikawa still has his moments.

(It doesn’t help that he’s teammates with Ushijima, and that despite their being _on the same damn team,_ Oikawa’s still determined to upstage the former Shiratorizawa ace.)

“But Iwa-chan will take care of me,” Oikawa says in between mouthfuls of noodles. And the way he says it, so matter-of-fact -- it’s the same way he’s always said things like these, a simple and unshakable faith that Iwaizumi will always be beside him in life, because Oikawa has never considered a life without him.

“I’m not your mom, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi snaps, and leaves to get ready for his afternoon lectures.

 

(But in the end, it’s the same for Iwaizumi: he simply assumes that Oikawa will be there, an annoying and endearing and permanent part of his life. That is how they are; that is how they will always be.)

 

When Iwaizumi catches the cold afterwards, he wakes up on a Monday morning to a note.

_i called your lecturers to tell them you won’t be in today. your anatomy TA is an asshole. don’t eat all my cup noodles._

It’s pinned to Oikawa’s hoodie, the soft Star Wars one he’d bought when the seventh installment was released. (And in hindsight, Iwaizumi realizes Oikawa still hasn’t returned his FMA sweater.)

Iwaizumi sneezes, smiles, and shrugs on the hoodie before padding into the kitchen for something to drink.

Oikawa comes home to find Iwaizumi curled up in bed, snoring softly, the sleeves of the hoodie pulled over his hands. It makes Oikawa smile as he tucks the blanket around his friend a little better, and closes the door quietly to let him sleep.

 

**5.**

Being a med student means Iwaizumi had decided against pursuing volleyball in college, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to slack on his fitness. He goes to the gym when he can, usually weekends, and Oikawa can take his comment about _Iwa-chan’s getting chubby!_ and shove it up his--

“Dare I ask,” Kuroo says as he materializes beside Iwaizumi, watching him jog on the treadmill.

“Hm?” Iwaizumi grunts eloquently in response.

“I did have a running bet with Bo,” Kuroo goes on, leaning against one of the nearby treadmills, “but I wasn’t expecting it to be this soon. I thought it’d take at least three semesters for you two to get with the program.”

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, turning to frown at Kuroo as best as he can while jogging.

Kuroo blinks at him, perplexed, then gestures with one hand. “You’re wearing Oikawa’s jersey shirt.”

There is a moment in which Iwaizumi swears he _does not_ almost fall off the treadmill, and Kuroo ends up on the floor snorting in laughter. Iwaizumi stops the machine and hops off with as much dignity as he can muster, then _does not_ run to the nearby mirror to check his back. It’s all for naught, though, because as he twists to get a view of the back of the shirt, the first characters of Oikawa’s name stare mockingly back at him. And while yes, the university jersey shirt remarkably resembles the volleyball team’s training shirt, but Iwaizumi still _should have noticed._

“I hate everything,” Iwaizumi declares to the ceiling, as Kuroo takes a Snapchat shot and sends it to half their group of friends.

“And you hate him the most,” Kuroo points out benevolently. And Iwaizumi punches him in the shoulder, because he can’t exactly disagree.

 

> _cute iwa-chan!!!_ (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

_ < shut up crappykawa _

 

**+1**

Iwaizumi wakes up on a Thursday to the smell of coffee brewing. Oikawa’s probably just come back from morning training to make brunch, but Iwaizumi’s first class of the day isn’t until one o’clock, so he’s in no rush. He stumbles out of the room to find Oikawa freshly-showered and wearing one of Iwaizumi’s shirts, an old training shirt from their Seijoh days. It’s still a little big at the shoulders for him, draped over his torso in a way that makes Iwaizumi smile.

“Good morning,” he says through a yawn, as he makes his way to the bathroom.

“Morning!” Oikawa calls back from where he’s getting something from a cabinet.

When Iwaizumi finishes cleaning up and returns to the kitchen, Oikawa’s already seated, sipping coffee and munching granola. The box is still on the kitchen counter alongside the coffee pot and Iwaizumi’s favorite cereal. As Iwaizumi squeezes past Oikawa to get to the counter, he ruffles soft hair, and Oikawa hums contentedly in response.

“How was training?” Iwaizumi asks as he looks for his bowl.

“Ushibaka wanted to work on the center quick again,” Oikawa answers around a mouthful of granola, and Iwaizumi huffs a laugh.

“How annoying,” Iwaizumi muses, and Oikawa launches into a tirade about how Ushijima’s not the only spiker on the team, isn’t even the ace, but he keeps insisting on doing extra work together and coach keeps indulging him and it’s tiring. And Iwaizumi settles across Oikawa at the dining table, their ankles knocking together underneath, nodding and humming because he’s heard this all before.

“--and Iwa-chan isn’t paying attention!” Oikawa pouts and flicks some dried fruit at Iwaizumi, who snorts and wipes at his face.

“What?” he says, frowning across the table. Oikawa sniffs and turns his head away, but Iwaizumi can see the pink in his cheeks.

“I said,” Oikawa says haughtily, returning to his granola, “that Iwa-chan should take me out tonight to make me feel better.”

Iwaizumi blinks at Oikawa for a few moments, before breaking into a laugh. He doesn’t stop even when Oikawa throws a whole spoonful of granola at him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasps, when he’s calmed down a little. Honestly, it’s so like Oikawa to demand a date in this fashion, Iwaizumi doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

“Iwa-chan is so mean,” Oikawa sulks, scrunching his nose.

Iwaizumi looks at this beautiful, impossible boy and smiles, because _really._ “If I take you to the noodle shop you like so much, will you forgive me?”

Oikawa pretends to consider this, but Iwaizumi can see the smile threatening at the corners of his lips. “Fine,” he says.

Iwaizumi’s smile widens. “I’ll pick you up after your afternoon practice.”

Oikawa stands to put his bowl in the sink. “Make sure to dress properly, Iwa-chan! And don’t be late.”

Iwaizumi looks down at his bowl of cereal and thinks, his cheeks have never hurt this much. Nor has his chest felt this warm.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”


End file.
